


Here He Comes

by Tricksterburd



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Disabled Character, F/F, F/M, Female Character of Color, Gen, LGBTQ Character of Color, M/M, Male Character of Color, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-07-29 21:38:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7700647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tricksterburd/pseuds/Tricksterburd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Christ George, I don't know!  Figure it out Washington, you're supposed to be our fearless leader, not me.  I'm just passing on the four-one-one.  You know how Alexander gets.  He wants to publish an article about how we don't clean up our messes.  I figured if we can nip this in the bud it'll make life easier for all of us in the long run."  She had to make sure that Alexander never found out about their powers.  How every single one of The Crew kept an eye on him.</p>
<p>Him.  Their biggest shame and disappointment.  Their biggest secret, beyond their given names.  They weren't going to let that happen again.  They failed him once, they weren't going to let it happen again.  And the best way to keep him safe, was to be around him.  Befriend him.  No, he couldn't find out who they were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Alexander.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the show version of Hamilton's life. That belongs to LMM.

“Eliza, please, I _NEED_ to have this column!” Alexander Hamilton leaned against Eliza's desk, pleading with words, eyes, face, hands, anything he had, to get her to pay attention to him. “It's my one shot to get out of horoscope. I mean, come on, I make up bullshit every day and only cat ladies who refuse to brush their hair even read it.”

“For your information, it's a very popular section of the paper. And it's in a wonderful position, right with the funny pages.”

“Exactly! The funny pages! It's not serious journalism, and you know it. I'm an economist! Let me do stocks, or answer questions written in, or something. Anything! I've been here for three years, I can do this and you know it.”

“Alexander sit down.” The young man had been pacing haltingly, wincing every time he stopped. After five “No Alexander”'s in a row, he had leaned in her face. Heaving an exaggerated sigh, Hamilton did exactly as he was told, though he set one foot on the desk instead of its designated rest. Eliza let it slide for the moment. “I know you're anxious with your role in this paper, and I know your qualifications like the back of my own hand. You've done my taxes often enough.”

She had to fight to keep from rolling her eyes at her friend's pompous grin and preening. He really didn't need his ego boosted.

“But the simple fact is, we don't have that kind of standing in the journalism world. We're only a step above a tabloid. Anything more serious than the sport column just won't sell.”

“You're wrong. We can become a serious paper. I know we can. We need to turn this thing around, need to show that we can be a serious publication and still be entertaining for the crazy cat ladies of the world.”

“And you plan to do that how?” There was no point in not letting him talk himself out of energy. It was obvious that he had an idea, and was having her lead him along so he could talk her ear off about what it was. And she fell for it, as always. Sometimes she wondered if she let him, or if he was just too persistent to make him stop.

“Start with a fluff piece. These superhero people are popular. But, and this is the kicker, we don't talk about what they do.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Of course it does! Take the big story of the day.” He didn't stay in his chair, shifting out of it to sit on her desk instead. The leg was still up, this time resting on the arm of her own chair. Okay, as annoying as it was, he'd only do that if it was bothering him. Now she was glad she didn't push it off her desk a moment ago. She was also glad the breaks were on his chair, or it'd be hell getting him out of her office later.

“The General, Earthinsky, and Windinsky cleaned up the freeway last night. An oil tanker jack-knifed in the middle lane, spilled crude all over the place, and stupidly enough, it caught fire. The General swoops in, lifts up the tanker like it weighs nothing, dumps out the driver, and removes the problem from the road. Windinsky, meanwhile, puts out the fire and Earthinsky gets is absorbed.”

“Yes, I know. It's been on every news station all morning. Why do we need to cover this thing that's been done to death? I thought you wanted us to be serious.”

“I do! And yeah, everyone's covering the story itself. But what about the ramifications of what they did?”

“What?”

“General saved the man's life. That's awesome, we all know that's what these masked people do. But what comes from it? Okay, this guy's alive, but now he's left on the side of the freeway with third degree burns, and General flies away with his truck. He's responsible for that truck, and he's hurt. Not the most responsible ending for him! With the truck gone, an investigation into what happened can't take place. And where did the truck go? You don't just make something like that vanish!”

“So you want to paint The General in a bad light?”

“No. No not at all! What he did was awesome, he's a hero! But there are problems that he caused that he has to answer for, just like anyone else would have to. Windinsky and Earthinsky helped clean up the mess, which is great. Wind put out the fire, which, had it been allowed to burn, would have done massive damage to the structural integrity of the freeway itself. So she saved the tax payers a ton of money. Earth used her sand stuff to absorb it, cleaning up the spill, reopening the freeway at least five hours sooner than it would have been without them. These are real facts. I know The General was just doing his best, but there are unanswered questions that everyone's ignoring. At least if we had the truck, the poor driver could find out if there was a mechanical failure of some sort, making it not really his fault that the truck overturned. Might save his job, might make the insurance companies pay out for his hospital, could bring to light problems in our trucking system that needs to be recalled and corrected. The General did a great deed, but that can't downplay that he's tampered with what could be a crime scene, and needs to be responsible for his actions.”

“Woah woah okay slow down Alexander. Breathe. One thing at a time. You want to write a piece about The Cape Crew, but not about them?”

“Exactly! Everyone's writing about what they're doing, but leaving out what normal people like us have to deal with after they have their spotlight. They have an all out brawl on Second with KGThree, and leave a mess behind. Everyone talks about the fight and the winner, but no one wants to talk about the businesses that now have to repair their store fronts, the cars that have to be repaired or replaced, you get the idea. No one's talking about the repercussions. It's our ticket to the big time!”

“And how does ripping apart everyone's favorite hero team fix our standing?”

“Simple! The headlines catch people's eyes. They buy the paper. They read it, suddenly getting a lens of 'Oh my god' and talk about aftermaths. It can lead to legislation that can manage what these supers do with evidence, what they're accountable for after battles. It might make them more aware of us down here on the ground. Might try to take their spats out of populated areas. And who would spark this social change?”

“... Us?”

“Bingo!”

“I don't know Hamilton. People love The Crew. I know you do too, but it sounds like mud slinging to me.”

“Let me write up an article. Just one. Submit it to you. You read it over, edit it as needed (She really did roll her eyes here. There was no way she'd edit a piece of his and not get an earful about it.), and if you like it, run it, see how it goes!”

“Alright alright. Sheesh. You'll be the death of me someday, Hamilton. Fine. Write your article. We'll see if I like it enough to try it, maybe on a Wednesday. So the fallout won't be so bad if it doesn't work the way you want it to. No promises, but at least write it up.”

Alexander beamed as he slipped off her desk and back into his own chair.

“You won't regret it Eliza, I promise!” He unlocked his chair, and rolled out of her office.

“I already do.” Elisabeth Schuyler muttered once he was out of earshot. She heaved a sigh, yanking her phone from her purse on the back of her chair. A few flicks, and she had it to her ear.

“George? Yeah, I know, it's during business hours, I know. Look, do me a favor. That truck from last night? Bring it back somehow and drop it off somewhere that it'll be investigated for whatever caused the crash and fire. Yeah I know. I know. No, Alex pointed out that you stole evidence and you know he's got a damn good point. No I don't know where you put it, that's why I called you. Yes. Yes. Hmm. Mmhmm. No. Please? Christ George, I don't know! Figure it out Washington, you're supposed to be our fearless leader, not me. I'm just passing on the four-one-one. You know how Alexander gets. He wants to publish an article about how we don't clean up our messes. I figured if we can nip this in the bud it'll make life easier for all of us in the long run. Yes. Hold on.”

There was a very long pause as a few people passed her office, making Eliza hold as she waited for them to leave earshot again.

“If you have to, get Mulligan to help you out. He's better at this than I am. 'Kay. Talk to you later.” She ended the call, sighing as she put her forehead on her desk. Well, at least Alex liked the work she and Angelica did last night, even if he didn't like George's.

 


	2. In The Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the eye of a hurricane, there is quiet.

Two weeks. He had been sick for two weeks, and Rachel had no idea what else to do. They couldn't afford a hospital, even if they could hop across the island without causing Alex pain. A small time doctor had visited, looked him over, tried their best. But the illness was destroying her youngest at an alarming rate, and she was helpless to do anything but sit and watch.

“Mama?” James peeked around the door frame, taking in the scene. Alex lay in bed; pale, skeletal thin, gasping for breath. His mother was dabbing cool water on his forehead from her seat beside the bed. She turned her attention to her eldest, giving him a saddened smile.

“Yes James?”

“What are we gonna do?”

At thirteen, he already knew that this was a disaster on his family's financial status and mental health. His mother looked to have not slept since Alex became sick, and he himself had been so worried about his ten year old brother than he had skipped school to help take care of him. Rachel beckoned him over, pulling him into her lap as they kept a keen eye on Alex.

“We're going to be strong, my love. Alex needs us to be strong and believe in him, to be here and have faith. He's strong, but needs us to lend him some of our strength too. That's what we're going to do.”

“Is Alex going to die?”

“No. No, Alex is going to be fine. We're going to make sure of it. It'll be okay, my love. Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Come. Let's make something for dinner. Perhaps it'll give us ideas as to how to help chase this illness away.”

It didn't. Another week passed, and Alexander stopped waking up for meals of broth and bread. Angry red boils covered his arms and shoulders, hives took root along his back and belly. He was fading from them, and Rachel couldn't stand the thought of losing her youngest. Ten. He was only ten. She was grateful that James was still healthy through all of this, the very idea of losing both of them sent her into a panic. But ten. Only ten years old. Not nearly enough time to experience the world, to make his mark, to discover his own life and love. She would gladly exchange her life for his. She had seen her world, seen her love, had her time though it also was very short.

Barely in her thirties, and she was a mother to a thirteen year old and a ten year old, and now she could very well lose one of them to the cruelty of poverty. She had to do something. Anything. How could she let it get this bad? They needed money, they needed a hospital, they needed help. How? How...

Alex awoke in the hospital a week later, confused and in a great deal of pain. What happened? Where was he? Last he remembered, he had come to his mom with a sore throat and an upset stomach. Wait, where was mom? And James, where was James? He felt achy, shivery, weak and sick. Where were they, why was he alone?

“Mom?” His throat felt like it was ripped open as he croaked his first word in over a month. A gasp, and he started to cough from the pain. Hands, there were hands on him, a cold something pressed to his lips, water. Blessed water slid down his throat. But as good as it felt, it hurt, and he coughed some more, struggling weakly in an attempt to get away from the cold hands on his burning skin. A pinch, sharp and sudden on the side of his neck, and the world started to fade to darkness again.

When next he awoke, soft fingers were soothing over his forehead. Slowly, so painfully slow, his mother's face swam into view.

“There he is. There's my little man. You're alright Alex, it's okay. Shh, shhhh, easy now. You're okay.” He blinked and swallowed, tearing his eyes from her to look around, figure out where he was. “A hospital, love. You're in a hospital. You're going to get better now. It's okay.”

“How?” His voice was so weak, his throat hurt so much. Even the whisper hurt and sounded alien in his own ears.

“It doesn't matter how. Don't concern yourself with how. Just concentrate on getting better Alex. Just be healthy. Please.” Alex nuzzled into her hand, already nodding off once more, the energy it took to stay awake being too great for him just yet. Rachel gave a sad smile, before turning her attention to James.

“Darling, keep an eye on your brother, please.”

“Mom, don't go to him.”

“I have to.”

“No. Alex is doing better, we can leave with him, and you'll never have to go back to that man.”

“He's the reason Alex is getting the help he needs. I have to go back.”

“Mom, please.”

“I'll be back later tonight.”

James watched his mother leave, knowing exactly what she was doing to pay for the medical care Alexander needed. It made him feel sick, to think of the man's disgusting hands all over his mother. But one look at Alex, and he knew why she did it.

 

 

Alexander was glad to be home. He still felt like a bull had run him over, but at least he could breathe now. And wasn't as shaky. He had been given a clean bill of health by the hospital, told that any residual weakness would be taken care of with meals and exercise, not that he'd be doing much of that for a while. Walking from the torn and weathered sofa to the kitchen and back was exhausting and enough to leave him gasping and ready for a nap. But at least he was healing, at least the illness was gone.

He just wished he was strong enough to help his Mom and James with the windows. They were boarding them over, getting ready for a storm they had been warned about. A hurricane was coming their way, promising to hit sometime later that night. The whole town was afraid, and with good reason. The town didn't have much money, the residence poorest of the poor. None of them had been able to maintain their houses very well. How many would be without homes once this was over? How many would be alive?

It hit about midnight, Alex startling awake at the crash of thunder. It was just a storm, just a storm, they'd be alright. They'd be okay. Snuggling back down between his mother and his brother, Alex tried in vain to get back to sleep.

An hour later he was shaking his mother, panic writing a story on his face.

“Manman! Manmna! Wake up!”

“Alex? What is it love?”

“The storm, we have to leave! Now!” There had been creaking outside from the winds, their walls holding up so far. But cracking and popping had started, the creaking becoming more of a threat. There was no way that was a good sound. Rachel listened, and understood her youngest's panic right away.

“James! Up!” She shook her oldest's shoulder, pulling both her sons out of bed. “We have to move, now!”

“Hmm?” James never woke up fast, and as Alex slipped his shoes on, grabbing his brother's arm to pull him, a huge CRASH sounded, pops and cracking almost deafening. Alex dove out of the way just in time as a tree fell through their roof, and between his family and himself.

“Manman! James!”

James was screaming, Alex trying desperately to see through the branches and thick trunk, to get over or around the tree, to get back to his family.

“Alexander! Run! Find shelter, we'll catch up!” His mother called, Jame's screams calming as Alex assumed that she reached him. Can't be easy, waking up to a tree in your face.

But you know what they say about assuming. It makes an ass out of you and me.

Alex did as he was told, hightailing it out of the house as the walls came down around them. He was going to be a good boy, he was going to listen to his mother, do as he was instructed, no matter how much it hurt to leave them behind, no matter how hard it was to breathe after being sick for so long. No matter. He had to get out, because his mother told him so.

The river had overflowed its banks, flooding the street and paths. He ran towards it, trying to get upriver, get to higher ground. The higher he was, the less water could pool, right? So he ran, and he ran, and he was buffered by winds that wanted to pick him up and throw him, and by rain that stabbed at his thin skin like knives, and ignored the pounding of his heart in his ears as his legs grew weaker from exhaustion. He had to find shelter, he had to fin-

He didn't see the rock thrown into the air by the rushing current.

 

Alex opened his eyes, and found the air and water around him, calm. The sky above was a sickly yellow, swirling masses of clouds surrounded the area, threatening, angry, ready to strike at any moment.

He's afraid.

Sitting up hurt, but he had to do it. He had to find Mom and James. Sitting up was the first step. And what a step, because sitting up brought him face to face with the ocean. He was on the beach, the sand all around him littered with pieces of houses, of clothing, of trees and reef, of peop-

Alex was sick. He turned to his right, and saw a face, pale and swollen with staring eyes, and he turned to the side and was sick. But that only brought more people. People. There were people on the beach. Parts of people, whole people, people who he had known his whole life. Dead. They were all dead. He would know, he had ran to each one to see if anyone survived.

There were twenty people on the beach besides himself. Not a single one was alive.

The village had been leveled to the ground. There were a few fences here and there, a wall or two, but the only “whole” building that had been left behind was an ancient mausoleum in the cemetery, built centuries ago. It had always been there, looming and dark, built by a forgotten family to house their forgotten bodies as they turned to dust. The names had been worn away by time and storms, salt air being the least kind to man made stones of brick. It had withstood the hurricane.

Alex remembered running with other kids at night, having been dared to creep close to it in the dark. It was haunted, after all. All graveyards with big buildings were. The angry ghosts of whoever was inside were mad that their names had been forgotten, and took the living into their house of the dead to sate their sadness for a time. All the children knew this.

The storm was getting closer. The eye was passing, winds picking back up and a small drizzle of rain pelted Alex's face. He had to get to shelter. He had to get away from the ocean before it picked back up into a rage. Then he would find his mother and brother. Then he would find them, and they'd be safe.

The only building that still stood was an ancient brick mausoleum. It took some heaving, and some pushing, and some clever use of a fallen branch as leverage. But an exhausted and hurt Alexander and pried the door open, and slipped inside among the decayed coffins.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a little hard, deciding how old to make James. The internet claims that James was born in 1742, while Alexander was born in roughly 1755. Though he sometimes used 1757, but I won't get into that here. But, given as Rachel was married at sixteen (1745) James CAN'T have been born in '42. The earliest he could have been born would be 1749? Rachel left four years after her marriage, so that's the soonest she'd be able to have another child, I'm seeing? So... I guessed.


	3. Purple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to wake up.

John awoke to screaming. To say that was an odd occurrence would be a lie, which is rather sad if he stopped to think about it. But that was his job. Well, part time job. That didn't pay anything. And constantly got him hurt and almost killed. But it was his job, and he loved it.

This screaming, on the other hand, was not of the innocent that needed his help. It was of his husband, waking from a nightmare. Also not totally an odd occurrence, but infinitely more sad.

“Shhh, Alexander, hey it's okay. Wake up love.” John rolled over, sat up, and grabbed Alexander to pull him into his lap, hold him close to his chest. Alexander's eyes were open, but unseeing as he shook and sobbed and gasped for air that refused to exchange correctly in his lungs. John held him tighter, whispered in his ear and rocked him side to side.

“John?” If he hadn't been right there, he would have missed it. But that was Alexander's voice, and Alexander's fear, there was no mistaking it.

“I'm here, I'm here.”

“John, oh god. They were dead. Everyone was dead.” He was waking up, being pulled from his terror by the anchor that was John Laurens.

“Mom, and James. The tree, the tree killed them. And the neighbors, the beach, and the river, oh god. Oh god. James! He had been dead the whole time and Mom, she told me- James. James. How could I forget, how could I not remember, oh god.”

That really caught John's attention. Alexander jolted out of his arms, scrambling to try to get out of the bed and into his chair.

“I forgot James! How could I forget, how could I do that to my own brother! I forgot my brother! He died in that hurricane, and I _forgot_ him!”

“Alexander, come back. It's alright, breathe love. Come back to bed, we'll talk about this.”

“No no, I have to go! John, I forgot about James! Why would I do something like that? He was my big brother, you don't just totally forget that someone like that exists!”

John could see the faint purple glow filling the room, Alexander's left temple being the source. Shit. Shit shit shit. Forgoing Hamilton for the moment, John dove for his phone on its charger.

_Me: get to our place now_

John bit his lip, hoping to god that Burr wasn't asleep yet.

_Burr: What do you want, Laurens. I am going to bed, do not bother me._

Fuck that. He called him instead.

“Laurens, I swear to god-”

“Alexander's remembering.”

The pregnant pause told John enough.

“I'll be there in five.”

“Make it two, we don't have five.” Thumbing the end call, he tossed the phone to the side as he went after Alexander once more. “Babe, come here.”

Alexander, for his part, was stumbling across the room using the handles of his wheelchair as a walker, muttering in distress to himself. John came up behind him with a steadying hand on his shoulder and another leading the chair back towards the bed.

“I have to get back, I have to see for myself.”

“No you don't. Hamilton, focus on my voice. Breathe, please, just listen to me.”

It didn't help, Alexander's knees buckling as his overworked legs became confused between Alexander's desire and John's guiding. John caught him, carefully lowering him down as the shaking began to worsen.

“Come on Burr, get your ass here.” Alexander couldn't hear John anymore, eyes rolling and babbling quieting down to a foaming mutter. John rocked, and rocked, and rocked, Alexander clutched to his chest. He could feel how frantic Hamilton's heart was pounding. Rock, rock, rock, where was Burr?!

He was pushed to the side, a dark man in nothing but sweat pants easing Alexander to the floor. A phone was pressed to his lover's temple, Aaron Burr focused solely on the screen as John pressed on Alexander's chest to keep him down. Moments passed, minutes passed, ages passed. And finally, _finally,_ Alexander gasped, and lay still. His breathing evened out, the purple faded from his skin. Asleep. He had fallen back asleep.

Burr and Laurens sat back, taking in the quiet. The apartment was filled only with the soft breathing of three very tired, very frightened, people. At least one of them was able to sleep through it.

“What even happened?” Aaron broke the spell.

“I don't honestly know.” John admitted, letting go of a breath in a whoosh. “One moment we're asleep, then Alex is waking up and going on about forgetting his brother? And then the inhibitor. It just started to glow. So I called you, because you said it was a warning, if it glows.”

“It is. It means it's failing.”

“What? You said it would keep him safe!”

“It should. It's supposed to block all memories of his powers! A dream shouldn't have set it off.”

“But it did.”

The two men stared at each other a moment longer.

“What now?” John broke it this time, going back to Alexander and pulled his head into his lap.

“I should get him to the lab, do a scan. Have T.H.E.O. give me a run down.”

“You think it's his powers themselves? He did tell us that even he didn't know everything they could do.”

“It's possible. I won't find out until I get to dig in and find out.”

“Okay.” John nodded, trying to get his head around what had just happened in the last ten minutes. “Okay. Help me get him up?”

Aaron helped get Alexander into his chair without another word, allowing John to wheel his husband from their home and into Burr's car. In the safety of the black vehicle, Laurens gave his friend a long, hard, searching look.

“Tinker, please. Tell me we're not going to lose him.”

“Phantom. I can't make promises I don't know if I can keep.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It'll all start to make more sense in the next chapter. Tried something a little new, let me know if you like this format better than the other two chapters.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a rough idea starter. I have so much more planned out, but a taste was all I could get out for now. Expect more soon. Superhero AU where everyone but Alexander is a superhero. Stay tuned to see who has what kind of power.


End file.
